


Bad Friends, Worse Friends, and Something about a Dragon

by disparity



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Crack, Humor, Language, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 01:44:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10426425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disparity/pseuds/disparity
Summary: When you come up against obstacles such as common sense, the laws of physics, and Loghain Mac Tir’s utter rejection of your sexual advances, you press on.Some people call it a death wish and poor impulse control. You call itoptimism.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a [kinkmeme fill](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/11571.html?thread=64011571#t64011571) that I sort of ran away with. Sorry? :3

In nineteen years, you’ve learned a few things about yourself: You prefer the company of men, you’re allergic to nuts, you’ll do just about anything if the coin’s good enough, and you have no impulse control to speak of.

It’s a bona-fide shem miracle that you’ve managed to stay alive this long. Of course, some credit goes to your cousin Shianni for bailing you out of half the life-threatening and frankly absurd situations you find yourself in--but then, she gets you  _ into _ the other half. You love her anyway, because you’re a glutton for schemes and bad behavior (and she has a nasty right hook).

You can’t muster up all that much surprise when you learn the entire alienage has neglected to mention your impending marriage to a girl from Highever until it’s too late to run. Of course, that doesn’t stop you from threatening to seek out the Dalish or from grandstanding when a shem with big britches struts through the alienage looking for trouble on your (ugh) wedding day.

No one’s entirely surprised when you cut your way through the arl’s estate with a stolen sword--except maybe Vaughan. Slashing his gut open might just be the most satisfying thing you’ve ever done. You’ve a mind to do the same thing to the next person who so much as looks at your cousin sideways, and the next.

City guards march the gates of the alienage, and for half a second it looks like you’re finally going to be punished for your insane, thoughtless antics. When you’re spared at the last second by conscription into the Grey Wardens, you laugh.

At some point you start to think you’re invincible, or maybe some kind of deity, because you live through the most ridiculous shit. You’ve cheated Death more times than you can count, and you have no idea how that fucker comes up with all these convoluted ways of collecting the debt. You used to laugh in the face of danger, but lately you’ve taken to rolling your eyes.

The Blight turns everyone’s shit sideways and kills a bunch of them to boot, and this guy Alistair blames it all on one person. You tend to blame the world as a whole for these sorts of things, because it’s just that kind of world, so you don’t share Alistair’s obsession. The thing is, he kind of assumed you did.

You don’t see much reason to blame Loghain in particular. He did try to sell your father and half your alienage into slavery--but Zevran shoved a dagger in your kidney, Leliana shot at you for pouring a vial of blood onto some dead fool’s ashes, and Morrigan still hasn’t given up on convincing you that the only viable course of action is to say ‘fuck it’ and watch the world burn. If people are defined by the company they keep, you are one fucked up elf.

The motives of nobles often go over your head, so you’re probably missing something here. But hey, Loghain’s got one hell of a sword arm, likes killing Orlesians, and is easy on the eyes. It’d be a waste to execute him for treason before this archdemon business is taken care of (and you’ve bedded him, of course).

Alistair doesn’t try to kill you, which comes as something of a surprise. Of course, it  _ is _ Alistair--you’ve spent months stealing each other’s food and trading jokes no one else laughs at--but you also braided Leliana’s hair at night and listened to Wynne’s stories even when they turned into life lessons, and it didn’t count for much in the end.

Denerim is still in a state of political chaos (although you might be paraphrasing--you don’t really listen when Eamon talks.) It’s off to Redcliffe, and that gives you more than enough time to convince Loghain it’s in his best interest to bend you over something and fuck you senseless. Somehow. You’re not clear on the specifics, but you rarely are, and it seems to work for you most of the time.

You start with, “Nice armor. You ever take it off?”

“Contrary to popular belief,” says Loghain, “I don’t sleep in it.”

“Well, what do you say to the two of us getting together without armor  _ or _ sleep?”

He catches on, then--or so you assume, by that funny look on his face. It’s almost adorable. “You are a child,” he protests.

“Oi, I’ve done enough to know what I’m doing.” You’re absolutely not pouting. “If you don’t believe me, though, I’m happy to prove it.”

He scoffs and leaves to his own tent, and you’re a bit more than half-sure that’s not an invitation. But if there’s one thing that makes up for a lack of charm or common sense, it’s persistence, and you’ve got that in spades. If all else fails, people do what you want just to shut you up. Or they try to kill you, but hey, at least you’re used to it.

You make a point to rarely, if ever, be awake before midday, now that you’ve essentially been given license to do whatever the fuck you want as long as you’re wearing this posh armor (or when you’re not wearing anything, but that part’s not new). So it’s a bit past midday, after you’ve eaten more than an elf your size should be able to, when you go at it again. And by ‘it’ you mean ‘the sexy, brooding warrior sharpening his sword by the fire pit.’ Because what  _ else _ could you mean?

“Shouldn’t we be off killing darkspawn somewhere?” asks Loghain in a voice that’s more delicious than that cheese with the holes in it. “That  _ is _ what Wardens do, correct?”

Oh. That. You wave it off and take a seat next to him. “They’re not going anywhere. Well, except for Redcliffe apparently, but that arl fellow doesn’t like me much because I sort of accidentally killed his wife in a blood magic ritual.” You wrinkle your nose. “Wasn’t fond of her.”

“You used Isolde to fuel blood magic?” he repeats sharply. He holds his blade above the whetstone, pausing in midair.

“Well, not me; it was a friend of mine. Well, not a friend. Actually, do you know what? I think he’s dead.” You shrug. “Anyway. What was I saying?”

You don’t really understand the look Loghain’s giving you at the moment, but you’ve always been terrible at reading shem faces. Must be the ears.

“Oh, right,” you continue, picking up your train of thought. “We  _ could _ be killing darkspawn, see, except there’s about fourteen things I’d rather be doing and at least six of them are you. So what do you say we have a go, and then we can kill as many darkspawn as you like. Even the big one.”

He raises a single eyebrow. “I assume you’re referring to the archdemon.”

“Yes.” You snap your fingers. “That’s the one. So, how about it? Or will I have to seduce you some more?”

Loghain scoffs and says, “Is that what you’re doing?”

You slap your knee as you stand up. “Right, point taken. I’ll try again later.”

And that’s exactly what you do, because even if persistence isn’t necessarily the best method all the time, it  _ does _ get results. On everyone except surly men called Loghain, apparently.

You fuck Zevran a few times, because it’s Zevran, and he laughs at you for being smitten. After you spend a good half-hour in his arse, you discover that’s not precisely an insult.  _ Smitten _ means  _ in love,  _ and you probably wouldn’t have gone as hard if you knew that beforehand. But it was fun, and Zev’s not moaning over it (anymore), so you decide there’s probably no point in learning new words anyway, ever.

You know you don’t love Loghain, because you love things like cheese and Shianni and putting daggers into things, and Loghain’s not any of those. But you would like there to be some fucking between you and him, and you don’t really care who does what as long as your bits are involved.

You spend about half your free time suggesting all the things you could do to, or with, Loghain and the other half flirting with Oghren because angry dwarves are hilarious. You’ve never experienced sexual frustration before, and you don’t know that’s what you’re feeling until Zevran tells you. Zevran’s quite clever, and he’s only tried to kill you once, so he’s probably the most trustworthy person you know. You decide to take his advice.

This is a horrible decision, but you don’t know that yet. You’re still lying shirtless in Loghain’s tent, waiting for him to finish supper as your nipples turn into icicles. It’s cold as balls, but Loghain hasn’t seen your sexy pose yet, so you can’t move. The thing is, you get bored, so you do what you usually do when you’re bored and (relatively) alone.

You’ve got your hand in your smalls when Loghain pokes into the tent and nearly startles you into an early finish. You can’t think of two things better matched than Loghain and your erection, so you moan his name and hope it turns him on enough to immediately fuck you silly. It does not.

“Get out,” says Loghain in a growl that ramps you up.

“I need you,” you pant. “Come fuck me.”

When he grabs you by the hair, you really start moaning. You’ve always liked it rough, and Loghain is just that  _ rough _ type. You’re a bit confused, though, when you faceplant into the dirt. You turn back just in time to see Loghain disappear back into his tent. Without you.

You complain, loudly, until Oghren resurfaces from his drunken stupor to rail on you, and not in the fun way. Shale sighs and makes a witty comment that’s drowned out by Morrigan’s cackling. You swear even the dog’s laughing at you.

Zevran is the only one to take pity on you. You hold your trousers up and waddle over to his tent, where you moan a different name--and if you’re a little louder than usual, what of it? Zev’s good at what he does. Half the time he knows what you want before you do, and his skill in giving it to you is, thus far, unmatched.

Loghain doesn’t speak to you again until you get to Redcliffe and learn that you’re both facing certain death, for real this time (you’re not convinced). What he says to you is, “I am willing to sacrifice my life for Ferelden, but I will not do it for you.”

“Rude,” you scoff. “But while we’re being rude, I ought to ask you: if you actually hate me, why haven’t you run off or tried to kill me yet?”

“I would not shirk my duty.”

You shrug. “Alistair did. He was a good bloke, too. Never tried to sell anybody into slavery.”

“Alistair is an incompetent child. He’s nothing like his father.” Loghain’s fists are clenched, and you get ready for a swing, just in case. “Anora, meanwhile, is a capable and sensible ruler.”

“Don’t give a fuck. I’m just curious why you’re still here.”

“If you find my presence so intolerable,” says Loghain, “perhaps you should not have agreed to my conscription. Then you’d still have your friend  _ Alistair.”  _ He sneers, and it’s a damn good look on him.

You can’t deny that you miss Alistair a bit, but you don’t like having it pointed out. And besides, “If Alistair wants to leave a whole country to be eaten by a giant, ugly dragon over some grudge, then he’s an idiot. And he’s not the first one, either. You know, I’ve done some mad shit for revenge, and that includes cutting up cocky shems, but I wouldn’t pack up and leave Ferelden while there’s an archdemon terrorizing everybody. That’s just irresponsible.” Loghain raises an eyebrow. You cross your arms and keep a straight face for exactly a second before you add, “And I  _ really _ want to kill a dragon. Even more than I want you in bed, and that’s quite a bit if you didn’t know.”

“I had an inkling,” he says dryly.

You grin. “Can’t help that you’re gorgeous, shem.”

He scoffs and turns on his heel, which is his usual response. Although you’d never, ever deny that persistence works most of the time, it does get sort of boring after awhile. But the good news is that Zevran’s not leaving anytime soon, and he fucks you quite a bit now, so you’re pleased with the state of things.

You head back to your room, where Morrigan is waiting for you. You let her have her dramatic speech, and when she’s done, you laugh.


End file.
